Chapter 14
Hunter
All fucking day, my thoughts have been consumed by her.
By a certain redhead with wide hazel eyes and a mouth I can’t seem to forget.
Hell, ever since that night, she is all I think about.
And I don’t like it one bit.
Someone occupying my mind like this is a liability. And I don’t tolerate those.
Except…
Except… Piper Ashthorne.
That should be self-explanatory.
The girl is a bloody enigma.
And I want to pry her open and see what hides beneath all that elegance and innocence.
I want to know what lives inside that pretty little head of hers, inside her soul too.
And it irritates the absolute hell out of me.
What irritates me even more is the fact that I seem to want more, while she appears entirely set on pretending none of it mattered.
I don’t chase women.
I never have.
Yet with her, every rule I have lived by suddenly seems useless.
But one thing became very clear to me the moment I saw her virgin blood stain my cock.
She is fucking mine.
Even if I don’t particularly like what that says about me.
This primal need to claim her overrides every shred of common sense I possess.
It feels as if a monster woke inside me that night.
And it wants more of her. Her body, her thoughts, her smiles.
Every bloody piece of her.
And I have a feeling that, if I ever let this monster off its leash, it would devour her whole.
But it doesn’t mean anything.
Maybe I simply need to fuck her a few more times and get her out of my system.
Except even that thought irritates me because, somewhere deep down, I already know there is no getting her out of my system.
And that is the problem.
I have always had control. That is what my entire life has been built on.
Control and order.
Everything has to be exactly the way I want it. Even my own mind.
And if something is not the way I want it, I make it the way I want it.
I wake up every morning at five o’clock sharp.
I have a routine I follow down to the minute, shower, gym, breakfast, work.
The products in my bathroom never change, same shower gel, same shampoo, same toothpaste, same brands every single time.
I own a Rolex for each day of the week. The ties are organised the same way, the belts too.
Everything I eat is planned down to the last detail. I have a set menu for every day of the week, and every meal contains exactly what the body requires, protein, carbohydrates, vitamins.
My meetings are arranged weeks in advance. Every detail of my life is predictable.
Exactly the way I want it.
Boxing is the only exception. The only time I let the monster breathe.
And when I do, havoc and death tend to follow.
Otherwise, it’s control.
Bloody control.
Doctors used to say there was something deeply wrong with the way my mind worked. Obsessive tendencies, compulsive behaviour… violent impulses.
Perhaps that explains this fixation I seem to have developed with a certain redhead.
Then again… if they could actually see inside my head, they would probably call me a psychopath.
“Are you even listening to me?” the grating, idiotic voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
I look up and narrow my eyes at Ms Erin… or was it Erika? Whatever her name is, I really don’t give a fuck.
She is perched on the edge of my desk with her skirt pushed so high I suspect the intention was to show lingerie, and judging by the state of her blouse, the professionalism died the second she walked in.
However, this little display does absolutely nothing for me.
Nothing.
A few weeks ago, I probably would have bent her over this very desk and given her exactly what she was asking for.
It is only sex. A basic human need that has never meant a damn thing to me beyond release.
But apparently, that is no longer the case.
It is almost as though my cock has stopped responding to anyone who is not a certain girl with wide hazel eyes and way too much control over my fucking head.
Because lately, she is all I see.
All I fucking want.
“No,” I say plainly.
She blinks, clearly caught off guard, though she recovers quickly. Leaning closer, her fingers brush over my arm.
“I was saying… perhaps we could continue this conversation over a drink.” What she probably considers a flirtatious smile crosses her face. Unfortunately for her, all it does is annoy me. “You could stand to let loose a little.”
I pull my arm from her touch, suddenly disgusted by the thought of her hands on my body.
“No,” I repeat.
She parts her lips again, entirely undeterred, but I speak before she has the chance.
“Get out.”
She narrows her eyes, though the smile remains fixed on her face. The moment she notices my expression, that smile drops slightly in annoyance. “You are such a bloody brute.”
“And don’t you forget it,” I reply, my attention already back on the papers on my desk, not bothering to look at her as I hear her walk out of the room.
Good riddance.
I don’t get much time to myself before the bloody door opens and someone strolls in.
“Mr Wardgrave,” Isaak Markev, future Pakhan of the Markev Bratva, says as he walks into the classroom.
I give him a brief nod, my eyes landing on the knowing grin on his face.
Isaak comes from one of the five founding families of Velmark Academy and is therefore part of the Ferrum Syndicate, same as me, and despite the few years between us, we have always been close.
Or at least as close as men like us are capable of being.
And he has an ulterior motive for being at this damned academy. On this damned island. More than the rest of us, anyway. That much is obvious.
Did I question it, though?
Absolutely not.
Because even if we are all members of the Ferrum Syndicate, the Markev family practically runs the bloody thing.
So when Isaak announced that we had apparently formed some sort of “truce” with the Thirteen Circle and would be attending their academy for a period of time, I was supposedly stunned.
Except I wasn’t.
That is complete bullshit.
To be shocked would require me to care, and I certainly don’t.
I don’t give two fucks.
I agreed easily because it meant she was here. And once again, against my better judgement, I wanted to see her again.
Needed to would probably be the more accurate wording.
Not that I care much for the politics behind any of this, though I certainly pretend otherwise. I act as though that is the reason I am here.
To teach, no less.
As if I possess the patience for that sort of thing.
I barely tolerate people working beneath me, never mind spending hours attempting to educate a pack of entitled little pricks.
I am twenty eight years old. I am well past the point of wanting anything to do with university life.
And to say my grandfather was annoyed would be putting it mildly.
He has been on my back about it ever since I finished my degree at Velmark Academy, and then, much to his irritation, I went and added another year onto it by deciding to do a master’s as well.
After that, I took a position at Wardgrave Dynamics, just not the one he wanted me in.
Truthfully, I don’t even know why I have kept delaying it.
Perhaps because it gave me freedom. Because taking that position felt too permanent. Too much like settling into a life that had already been decided for me before I was even born.
And despite my obsession with control, the thought of settling down used to make my skin fucking crawl.
Take the position, marry some suitable woman, produce heirs. Repeat the same tedious cycle generation after generation.
I wanted absolutely no part in it.
Well, I still don’t.
But one thing is certain.
I want Piper.
Even knowing I am incapable of giving her what she probably wants most. Love and all the other bullshit people convince themselves matters.
And perhaps, if anyone on this planet deserves that sort of thing, it is probably her.
Which is precisely why I am the worst thing that could ever happen to her.
But I am also selfish.
Bloody greedy.
Completely fucked in the head.
And despite knowing all of that… I am still going to take her.
I had finally been ready to take the CEO position. It was supposed to happen this year.
That had been the plan.
Again… before her.
It never stood a chance the moment Piper Ashthorne entered the equation.
I told my grandfather it had to do with the Ferrum Syndicate, which more or less ended the discussion.
Barely.
But the truth is, I came here for Piper Ashthorne.
Why?
That is the real fucking question.
And honestly, I don’t know.
“What has you looking so pensive?” Isaak asks, dragging me out of my thoughts, one brow raised lazily.
“None of your business.”
“Saw Ms Elena… or was it Eva?” He shakes his head dismissively. “Irrelevant.”
His expression turns vaguely amused. “I saw her leaving your classroom and assumed you would be in a considerably better mood after fucking some of that aggression out of your system. Chemical release tends to help with stress.”
Disgust twists in my stomach at the mere suggestion. “I didn’t fuck her.”
Isaak blinks. “Interesting. That is rather out of character for you.”
“No. It actually isn’t,” I snap, which only irritates me further because I don’t bloody snap.
“What do you want?” I ask a moment later, calmer this time.
“Professor Wardgrave. Disturbing image, really. I also wanted to make certain none of your students ended up dead during your lecture.”
“I assume you came prepared to clean up the body if I did.”
Isaak looks thoroughly bored and offers no response whatsoever as he turns to leave.
“Set me up with a match. I need to burn off some fucking tension,” I add.
“Something is clearly going on with you,” Isaak says, not even bothering to turn around. “Fortunately for you, your issues are none of my concern.”
“So fucking fortunate,” I mutter as he reaches the door.
“The match,” I remind him. “And make sure it is someone worthwhile this time.”
“I’ll arrange it.”
Then he’s gone.
I look back down at the papers, attempting to focus, but it’s fucking pointless. My attention lasts all of thirty seconds before the aggravation creeps back under my skin.
So I stand and leave.
And like some thoroughly pathetic version of myself I never thought I would become, I spend the rest of the evening waiting for the clock to strike seven.